Pink Litter 14/9
A scarlet story on your face — from peaks
to pit, your life in lips showcased. You show
them what you cannot hide: a blush as meek
as what has died inside, in children’s clothes.
A drink, while changing, with a ghost— a waif
that hates her dad the most. She shot him dead
while just a teen. Acquitted, siblings safe,
she bleeds men green, a tiaraed towhead.
Your boss — a former showgirl, too, fishnets,
stilettos, three-button blazer, blue — was once
a girl found naked, side of road. From sweat
in duct tape while her life implodes to struts.
A naked world three showgirls understand:
all life you know a show below some man.
The guilty shall not go unpunished. Fuck the innocent don’t go either. This is how we’re born and poof, just like that, we can’t recover. –M.R.
Pink Litter. 